


Music Man

by Topographical_Map_Of_Utah



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: 1920s, Chance Meetings, Dog BB-8, First Kiss, M/M, Pianist Finn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 11:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12253116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topographical_Map_Of_Utah/pseuds/Topographical_Map_Of_Utah
Summary: At the turn of the century, New York's Tin Pan Alley was a hub of activity when it came to singers and songwriters. Finn's just trying to write a song and pay the rent, but it never is that simple.





	Music Man

 It was two in the morning, someone was smoking a stinking cigar in the demo room next door, and Finn was still sitting at an upright piano on the second floor of a sagging music house, the paint peeling off the upper panel and every second note slightly off key. 

He was running on the fumes of a flophouse coffee, and his last few cents had gone to renting out a room in the publishing house for the evening, trying to coax a song out of his twitching fingers and red rimmed eyes. The caffeine and time was waning, but he had to write something good enough to sell, because for the past month or so he had been living on bologna.

God, he hated bologna. 

After a couple failed refrains Finn cussed and settled back on the rickety stool pockmarked with black spots from cigarette burns, picking out a vaguely jazzy, very lazy little melody, one that might be good with lyrics. If only he could think of something... 

Words had never come easy to him, always an afterthought, clinging to the edges of his chords and cadence. He was more comfortable with pianos, fiddles; anything he could do to fill the quiet without opening his mouth, anything that could convey a meaning without a single word being uttered. One would think the lyrics would come naturally, seeing as they had settled themselves precisely on the tip of his tongue. But nothing was coming to him but a headache and the promise of a sharp knock on the door that would signal his time was up.

 He played the simple refrain he had managed to nail down over and over again, trying to work out what words might go with it. As he was considering the tempting option of throwing in the towel and riding the rails westward, there was a knock on the thin wall, too firm to be rattling pipes or a mouse. Finn tensed up, frowning at the cracking yellow plaster. Well, that was rude.

 "Look, pal, we're all making noise..." Thus the Manhattan street where they found themselves being commonly referred to as Tin Pan Alley. On a busy night it was like a cat fight was going on behind every open window, a cacophony of too many styles and sounds all trying to get the upper hand.

"Sorry, just..." The voice was sheepish and vaguely Brooklyn, compelling Finn to listen. He had a soft spot for the other side of the Hudson. "Can you play that again? The last...four bars, I think?"

Finn couldn't help but narrow his eyes, which looked rather ridiculous, considering he was just staring at a wall. In these scenarios it would be wise to decline, but after recalling the fact that the publisher's officer was nearer his end of the hall, and the fact he was a pretty good runner, Finn ventured an answer. This clown wasn't about to steal a handful of notes from him. Especially not when those notes could conceivably pay the rent. "Why?"

"Help a guy out, buddy. I just need to work out a few lines..." The voice groaned, melodramatic as a petulant child at bedtime. That broke Finn's resolve to be stern a little bit. "Please?"

 "The last four bars?" he sighed, shuffling up his pages and unbending the coffee stained edges.

 "Maybe five. Or just from the beginning, if that ain't too much trouble. God, you're a saint..." 

 "Brownnoser..." Finn snorted as he launched into the intro. Or perhaps launched wasn't the right word for it. Slunk was better, slunk into the dusky melody the way two shadows slipped into the cross of train station shadows, hiding all manner of things under cover of darkness and reverently held silence.

Now if only Finn could properly put that image into words.

Four bars in there was the sound of someone counting off in whispers, then the voice picked up again from the other side of the wall, warm and sultry, golden honey drizzled on a biscuit fresh out of the oven. Far cry from the sloping sleepiness he had heard earlier. 

_Honey take me down, down that alleyway,_  
_Let's have us a sweet bit of fun_  
_In matters like this nobody's got a say,_  
_Don't slip a word to anyone_

The voice dropped off, but Finn kept playing block chords just to fill out the break, getting back into the melody once the tapping started up again on the other side of the wall. 

_Drug me with them whiskey kisses,_  
_Let that lovin' set me alight_  
_Cupid shoots, but he always misses_  
_We ain't in for long, but that's alright..._

"Raise it by a half step?" The voice requested suddenly. Finn hummed a response and obliged, listening for the tapping of his partner's fingers. This was quite fun, actually. A back and forth without the stress of a face to face. Conversing without having to open his mouth.

_Don't give a red cent 'bout the future,_  
_And the past, well, she's done come and gone_  
_All I got's you and a moonshine shooter_  
_So at present nothing much can go wrong_

"Your turn." The voice laughed. Finn smiled and picked his way through a solo, clearly counting down to the last stanza as he shifted back to the melody, not being able to help the smile that spread across his face when his partner counted his way back in.

_Oh little darlin', be sweet to me_  
_Just for the night be my honey bee_  
_Got sugarcoated lips and kisses that sting,_  
_But you ain't getting no diamond ring_  

_You and me ain't meant to feel a thing,_  
_So you ain't getting no diamond ring..._

 Finn couldn't help but smile, absently picking out a thumbline to play the both of them out. He heard the faint sound of clapping and laughed, sitting back on his stool. "Not bad, stranger."

"Right back at ya. Can I come over? Introductions seem like they're in order. And we should write out the score..." 

"That allowed?" Finn was pretty sure it wasn't. Ensemble rooms went for a higher rate, so if anyone saw them sharing quarters, they would both be tossed out on their ear. It was more than likely their all too precious sheet music would be taken, too. And that would just leave a bad taste in Finn's mouth for the next couple months. 

 "No, but..." The voice trailed off, then Finn heard the floorboards creak, the sound of cheap window shades being drawn back and a rusty latch being pushed back. Oh, he couldn't possibly be considering that... 

"You're one crazy somebody..." 

"So I've been told." There was a short, nerve-wracking silence, then Finn heard a tap on his window and yelped, seeing a shadowy face and a gloved hand pressed against the glass.

 "Jesus..." Finn breathed as he pulled open the window. A mangy little puppy hopped out of the guy's hood, trotting over to the coat Finn had discarded in the corner of the room. It watched with round blue eyes as he dragged the guy inside by his coat collar, not without a fair bit of cussing and yanking. He was like a sack of bricks, but Finn managed, somehow. And the guy didn't even mind the rough landing.

"Thanks, buddy." The guy smiled up at Finn, still laying spreadeagled on the floor and looking rather happy about it. "Christ, it's freezing out there. Almost slipped and landed on my ass. Prolly' would've bounced, though..." he laughed as he shook his fraying wool jacket free of powdery snowflakes, sending a little flurry down on the floorboards. "Still, might've broken a couple bones. Butty wouldn't have thanked me, either. Butty's the dog, by the way. She's a pain in my ass, but I love her..." 

"That a fact?" Finn settled back against the piano with a soft chuckle, a smile on his face. Words seemed to pour out of his new friend unhindered, like somebody had left the tap running. It was kind of comforting, actually. Finn didn't have the money to afford a radio, but if he could get his hands on one, he imagined this would be the effect.

"Yep. That would've been lucky for you, though. If I had toppled. You'd've got all the rights to the song-" The guy looked up and they both froze, staring at each other with eyes gone wide, as though trying to take in every single curve and angle of the other's face. This couldn't be real. 

"Poe Dameron you son of a gun..." Finn managed, his voice airy, like the shock had punctured one of his lungs. 

_"Finn?"_ Poe's look of shock was replaced by a gap-toothed grin which seemed to take up the better part of his scruffy face, making his eyes crinkle up and his brow crease. "Well, I'll be damned. The hell are you doing here?"

"I think it's pretty obvious." Finn laughed, pulling Poe up and into a hug. It had been years, but he could still remember the friendly pressure of Poe's arm around his shoulder, the sound of his voice and guitar in the dark of whichever hayloft they had commandeered for the night.

Turn of the century they had banded together when Poe was seventeen and Finn was eight, a couple little bindle punks with nothing but the clothes on their backs and a knack for singing whatever sentimental tune bar patrons were willing to pay a penny for. They had split when Poe was drafted into the Great War, but Finn had never really filled the gap. 

"Well I'll be damned..." Poe plopped himself on the ground by the piano and smiled, the same grin that had calmed Finn down after nightmares, the same one that had made a life of running and hiding and picking fights in alleyways a bit less lonesome. "Not to cut things short, but I think you and me have got a song to write."

"Oh." Finn shook off the memories and grinned at Poe as he sat back down, his cheeks a bit warm. "Right."

He also hadn't gotten over the fact he was absolutely in love with the guy, but Poe didn't have to be in the know about that quite yet.

 

\-----------

 

"You being serious right now?" Poe looked up from the completed score, his specs lopsided and dog tucked under his arm. They had wrapped up with a half hour to spare, so now they were just lounging about with some gin and a sense of satisfaction, stories of the past decade or so ready on their loosened lips. "You were carrying the torch for li'l old me?" 

"I was pretty damn smitten with you." Finn admitted, his smile gone lopsided from whatever it was in that flask. He was already half-shot, but he didn't see the point in stopping. He also no longer saw a reason to withhold the crush he was still harbouring. He wasn't very good at holding his booze.

They had spent the past hour talking, drinking, poring over the score that was coming together nicely, and all the while slipping back into the comfort of each other's company. It was almost too easy. Not that Finn had a problem with that.

"Really? I can't say I felt the same way, buddy." Poe raised an eyebrow. "At one point I was quite literally twice your age."

"Do not make me think about that." Finn gave Poe's shoulder a friendly punch and shook his head. "You're how old now? Hundred and eight?"

"Up yours. I'm thirty-two. So you're..." Poe paused for a moment. "Huh. Twenty-three."

"Doesn't seem quite as scandalous now, huh?" Finn laughed, his smile taking a flirtatious turn. He had never given much mind to the prudish sensibilities of a good chunk of the population; the fact he was quite at ease with committing sins of a carnal nature or what-have-you. Let them talk, he figured. So long as they weren't talking about him directly, he was more than happy staying out of the line of fire. What the world didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"Not in that respect." Poe tipped back the dregs from his flask and smiled over at Finn. He seemed to be warming to the idea. "You aren't getting ideas, are you?"

"Hard to say." Finn flopped into Poe's lap and stretched, smiling up at him with hazy eyes. "I'm drunk."

"That might be the case." Poe agreed, adjusting the collar of Finn's shirt and pinching his ear. "You gonna nap?"

"Maybe." Finn cracked one eye open and smiled up at Poe. "Can I get a goodnight kiss?"

"That's a tall order, buddy." Regardless, Poe cracked a grin and aimed to kiss Finn's forehead, his eyes going wide when Finn tilted his head back and pressed their lips together, instead. That was a rather pleasant surprise. "So that's what you wanted..."

"Can you blame me?" Finn breathed, their lips still flush together. Somehow his arm wound up draped around Poe's neck and Poe had cupped the back of his head, holding him close as he could. "I missed you."

"Missed you, too." Poe pulled back and smiled at Finn, hope clear in his face. Finn pat his cheek and chuckled, tilting his head back.

"We have..." He glanced at the dented old alarm clock sitting on the windowsill. "About twenty-five minutes."

"That's plenty of time." Poe said comfortably, getting up to pull down the blinds and hooking his finger under the collar of Finn's shirt. "Plenty of time." 

Finn smiled and let his eyes flutter shut as Poe kissed him, the discordant noises of the city right outside the window falling away to reveal the baseline melody, the steadiness of two heartbeats like a metronome's steady measure.

 This night would make for another good song, he was sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> im in class and wrote a thing instead of listening to a lecture


End file.
